There are a few things I've read about along the way during my pregnancy that I have found to be ALL LIES.

For example: glowing skin. My skin was grey for the first fourteen weeks of pregnancy after suffering from severe morning sickness. Then it got really spotty, then I had the most horrendous eyebags and then it went really dry. The only time it glowed was when I overdid it with the skin illuminator and then I looked like Tinkerbell.

Then there's the thick glossy hair. My hair hasn't got any thicker and it certainly isn't glossy. It has grown super quick which has meant more frequent trips to the hairdresser to disguise the fact that I am naturally a member of the brunette club. There is no gloss though. None.

I've been told I'm 'blooming', which doesn't mean you have the pregnancy glow. It means you look fat. Your arse has spread, your boobs are bigger than your head, your face is as round as the moon. Flowers bloom. You are not a flower. You've just got fat.

You're also supposed to be a lot calmer during pregnancy. Well I can tell you right now this is utter bollocks. For one, your hormones are all over the joint. Everything pisses you off, makes you cry, pushes you over the edge and makes you contemplate violence. I don't know how I'm not in prison. I haven't calmed down, I'm more neurotic than I have ever been.

Internal examinations don't hurt, they're just uncomfortable. Er....they bloody do hurt. And as for membrane sweeps... I'd rather give blood every day of the week and I'm the biggest blood test wuss going.

Warm baths help ease pain. No they don't. Hot baths help but they certainly don't make the pain go away. Neither does Paracetamol. Or co-codamol. I need horse tranquillisers to numb my pain. And wine.

Another is that when your baby kicks it makes your heart melt. Ha. It makes your ribs ache, your stomach turn and your face screw up. Once it nearly stopped my heart. Because I was in agony not because it was glorious. Her kicks don't melt my little black heart.

You see you shouldn't believe what you read or what they tell you. That way you won't be disappointed. It's all lies. Just like Santa is real and chocolate cures all heartbreak, he'll never notice the three new pairs of shoes you just bought and once more glass of wine won't result in a hangover. If you prepare yourself for the worst you'll be fine. And that isn't me being cynical, it's the god damn truth.

I had my appointment with the consultant this afternoon and it didn't really go how I wanted it to. In my head she was going to say 'here is a pill, take it and when you wake up it'll all be over. Your baby will be fine and you'll be in no pain.' That didn't happen.

She checked the baby - fine. She offered to do a membrane sweep (I was hoping she would) and I quickly accepted. I took deep breaths whilst she went about her business but because my cervix was so tightly closed it was unsuccessful. Cue major pain and a funny turn that nearly resulted in passing out. I wanted to cry very hard, this is not what was supposed to happen. She measured my swollen ankle and sent me for a scan to rule out DVT. That was ruled out and then I had to go back to see her with the results.

I am booked in for my induction next Friday. I'll have a baby by Monday (If she doesn't come on her own before then) and it'll all be over. Meanwhile I'm in a lot of pain. Being prodded and poked isn't very nice anyway but when you have achey bones it's even worse. I'm going to have to go and have a cry now and eat a big bar of chocolate.

After a shitty nights sleep (she kicked until 3am) I was up early for a chocolate muffin breakfast with one of my sisters. Unfortunately the muffin did not compensate for the lack of sleep. I gave it a six out of ten.

I stayed in my pyjamas until 3pm just because I can and watched car crash TV (thank god for sky on these final days of hell). Then I had a shower and noticed my cankle. My right foot was swollen and itchy, such an attractive sight. I rang the midwife and she told me to go to the hospital to have my bloods taken. They monitored the little darling (she's fine of course, I on the other hand continue to suffer) and took some blood to rule out liver dysfunction (there is a lot that's dysfunctional about me these days). I get the results back tomorrow when I see the consultant. In the meantime me and my cankle just need to get on with it.

Two people think I'll have her tomorrow. I'm going for Friday. A fool giving birth to a fools child on April fools? It's just meant to be...

After a day of boredom and agony, yesterday I called the midwife hoping she'd tell me to go to hospital to be induced. No such luck. She told me to have sex and to eat something that would give me the runs. If she hadn't said it the way she did, I would have burst into tears but it made me laugh quite hard. Still didn't bring on labour though.

So for dinner I had spicy fajitas followed by a whole pot of sour cream and half a pineapple. Yes it did what I thought it would do but it still didn't bring on labour. So tonight I'm having spicy chilli with another pot of sour cream and more pineapple. I shall continue to loosen my bowels until she gets fucked off and decides she's had enough.

Today is no different, this SPD is causing me hell. I'm in a lot of pain but there is nothing that can solve it, except of course labour.

I just coughed and wet myself. As my best friend says: Fuck my life.Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

Still no sign. I'm beginning to lose the will to live. I didn't get out of bed until midday out of sheer laziness and anyway, what's the point?

There has been no indication that she'll be coming out anytime soon and I'm growing more and more angry with her by the day. I mean, how dare she think she can decide when it's time? I already have a feeling she's going to be an absolute nightmare and I've started to think about which boarding school to send her to.

I'm so completely fucked off with all this now. It's extremely boring and I'm getting tired of people asking if there has been any sign. No, there hasn't. Leave me alone to be grumpy and hateful.

This should be my last official night of freedom. I hope it is because for the last hour she has REALLY kicked off and it hurts.

Another fourteen days of this and they'll be carting me off to the nutty hospital once I've given birth (that's ok though because one of my friends lives opposite so she can wave out of her window to me).

I'm scared and nervous and worried and impatient and ratty and completely over being pregnant. Whoever said it's a wonderful feeling is obviously on some kind of medication.

Just in case tomorrow does end up being the longest and most painful day of my life, I'm off to get some sleep.

You may all be wondering what that monstrous rant was about yesterday.

I went to see the midwife (Heather, the one I'm supposed to see every week) and was checked over and told everything was fine. She then explained to me because I have an appointment with the consultant next week that I wouldn't need to see her. He would book me in for my induction for the following week and she would see me once I've had the baby. She went on to tell me what happens at the induction and how long it could take and how many times they'd induce me until they finally give up and perform a c-section. All in all, I could be pregnant up until the 12th April.

Now you may not see the bad side of this but if you've been reading my blog you'll know that I've suffered quite a bit over the last nine months and to be pregnant for another two weeks is the equivalent of a life sentence.

I was in such a strop after the midwife yesterday I gave myself the most painful heartburn

So with one day left until I'm officially 'due' (lets be honest here, we all know I'll be late), I best get cracking on the housework.

After a large glass of red wine last night the devil child decided to settle and didn't wake up until half nine this morning which meant I had a lovely long sleep (except for the eight trips to the loo although I have mastered the art of sleepwalking to the bathroom).

I still have a very sore pelvis and cramps which could be the start of something or nothing, probably nothing. A lot of people think today is the day but they're all going to be wrong, she'll be late just to piss me off even more. I'm not bothered though, I've already plotted ways to get her back. And if she carries on the way she is, she most certainly will not be inheriting my shoe and bag collection...

Your little one might be quite happy to stay put for a few days yet (Oh really? We'll see about that. I intend on making it pretty damn crappy for her until she gets out). If so, don't start stressing - make the most of these extra days (EXTRA DAYS? Extra days of fucking hell? Make the most of them? To do what? Throw myself in front of a fucking bus?) and enjoy time with your partner (the man that did this to me? Yeah right). You'll have precious little opportunity for it over the next few months! (Oh is that so? Well I have a long list of babysitters and a long list of reasons why I need to go out and get so completely drunk I forget who I am so I WILL have lots of opportunity THANKS)

I woke up at 3am convinced I was in labour but it appears it was probably just the onset of early labour like the stupid ol' Doris said the other day. After an hour, the pain had died off. I have convinced myself she's coming at some point today but no doubt I'll be disappointed come bedtime.

Today I did a spot of cleaning and then went for lunch at a country pub in the sunshine which was rather pleasant and then was treated to a trip to the nail salon by the husband. Now I'm sitting here typing this for you all to read.

I've had over 1800 hits since I started moaning online and from all over the world, I'm terribly grateful for all your support and I obviously haven't bored you all that much because you keep coming back... Or maybe it's because you're waiting to see how much agony I'm in during labour so you can laugh. Either way, thank you...

I am in such a ridiculous amount of pain this morning I am tempted to swallow the whole pack of Co-codamol. My pelvic bones must have shifted a bit more in the night or the baby has dropped even further, either way it hurts. So once again my mood is reflected by the weather.

Tomorrow I shall spend the day listening to everyone say 'one week to go' excitedly but we all know that she's going to be late, I think they're all just trying to cheer me up and they're failing miserably.

I was planning on going out but the pain is quite restricting. The thought of a day in front of crappy TV is just depressing but I think that's all I'm capable of today. I feel like such an old granny which is ironic because I always wanted to be one. I'd give anything to be my flexible old self again.

After a successful afternoon of disinfecting my Mum's kitchen (for if I disinfect mine any more I shall have nothing left) and eating cake, we went to see the midwife.

I was expecting to see my midwife Heather but instead got Emma. To look at, you'd think Emma was seventeen and at college. You'd also think she was seventeen due to her attitude problem. I gave her an update on everything since I last saw her six weeks ago (Heather was on maternity leave) and told her that I was suffering from SPD. Her response 'you poor thing'. If I wasn't bothered about having no criminal record, I would have punched her. I didn't realise it was in a midwives job spec to be patronising as well as unhelpful, not reassuring in the slightest or have any confidence in what they tell you. I do now.

After telling her about my private scan she asked what the sonographer had said as she couldn't read the results. Gobsmacked. She said that 'to tick all the boxes' I should see a consultant just to make sure they were happy with the results. Cue a phone call to the hospital and an appointment made for five days after my due date. I'm fully aware that the NHS are extremely busy but surely maternal care should be high on their priority? What if the consultant isn't happy with the results? Something could have been done about it in the meantime. I'm finding it hard to understand how every ones attitude towards pregnant women can be so blase?

Granted, I'm not the only pregnant woman in the world but I'm getting seriously fucked off with everyone telling me to have a warm bath and take some paracetamol because last time I checked, warm baths and paracetamol do not fix things - especially not a baby that could potentially not be growing properly. Call me dramatic and I'll tell you to piss off, I'm carrying something that I have nurtured and even though she's the most annoying thing on the planet she's extremely precious to me and I want to know that she's ok. Surely I deserve that? I don't deserve to be shooed off and told to call back if she stops moving or I'm having contractions four minutes apart. Or to be told that I can't be seen by a doctor until after I'm due to give birth.

Midwives are in short supply, yes, but before they recruit any more, they should be checking that they actually give a damn about the women put into their care and stripped of any attitude problem. I deserve to be treated as an individual, not a number.

I had an alright sleep last night but I think I would have slept through her violence if she decided to pull another all nighter anyway as I was so exhausted yesterday. Today's complaints: I won't bore you because the list is rather long. I am feeling very down in the dumps though and each day seems to bring more and more pain and if another twit tells me to have a warm bath and take paracetamol then I shall tell them exactly what I think of their suggestion: it doesn't fucking work.

My midwife is going to regret getting out of bed this morning once she's seen me today.

The devil child decided to stop kicking at 2am, she started at 8pm. By midnight I was thinking about throwing myself down the stairs. I have never felt agony like her kicking me in the ribs, it's the worst pain (although I'm sure I'll be saying otherwise when I have her). Then at 4am she woke up again and didn't settle until 6. I was rudely awoken by some sort of fog horn on a boat (I live next to the River Thames) at numerous times throughout the morning so all in all, I managed about four hours of sleep.

Today I look like a heroin addict.

Then this afternoon I got a call from my doctor 'Your results are back and you do in fact have a water infection'. This is my eighth is nearly nine months. That's normal apparently. I really don't think my midwife or my doctor has any idea about anything.

I'm seeing the midwife tomorrow and unfortunately for her I shall be accompanied by my Mother. If you think I have a stroppy, potty mouthed temperament...

After a night of no sleep thanks to The Snoring Pig and The Violent Child I find myself in a shitty mood today, unsurprisingly. With my tearaway brother inhabiting the spare room I let the husband back into our bed when really I should have sent him straight to the sofa. With all the extra body heat in the bed, I found myself boiling for the majority of the night and was super restless which in turn fucked The Violent Child off so she made sure I knew that I was keeping her awake.

Today I am going for lunch with my two favourite people, my psycho mother and senile grandmother, which should cheer me up seeings as they're two of the loosest canons on the planet. My Nan likes to tap dance in the kitchen and tell my Grandad to 'fuck off' at least once a day (I think this is where I inherited my potty mouth) and my Mum (the most infuriating person I know) can't help but smile and laugh even when she's not happy because it makes everyone else feel better. So I'm sure lots of laughs will be had today.

At half five this morning I thought I was in early labour. Turns out I wasn't, it was just wishful thinking and maybe a bit of manifesting. At half eight after persuading myself to stop being an idiot and go back to sleep I did just that.

'Another day to cross off of the calendar' as my Nan says. Another day of boredom. I don't want to sit around and relax, even though doing anything other than that leaves me in pain. There are only so many times you can walk around Bluewater without wanting to jump in front of a bus because all the pretty clothes are sending you further in to depression. I'm bored of watching DVD's, bored of housework - I'm literally all nested out. At least if I was in labour it would be a bit excitement, pain or not. I'd rather be crawling around on all fours right now that sitting here with chronic heartburn in a sulk because all I can wear these days are jogging bottoms or maternity leggings (VOM).

I've given up counting down. Every morning I'd think 'X days to go' but I know she'll be late. She's already made it perfectly clear she's selfish as well as violent, stroppy and bossy. Christ knows how she's come to adopt these characteristics...

I'm in a lot of pain this morning although there is no point mentioning it to anyone because their response it either to rest up or that there isn't long to go and both of those would be met by something rather rude. I'm sitting down with my knees together but even that hurts.

Today I am spending the afternoon out of the house with His Majesty, I think we're going for lunch. He wanted to go to the seaside but it would be sods law that I go into labour when we're an hour away from home so I shot that idea right down. I'd need a wheelchair for a trip like that anyway.

'Only two more weeks to go' is what they're all saying. Well yeah, until the estimated due date. She could go overdue by two weeks which means I have four more weeks left. This is enough to send me over the edge of a cliff.

I have learnt that I shouldn't be taking co-codamol, not in the last trimester and certainly not two weeks before I'm due. Just goes to show that doctors really don't have a clue...

Have you picked up on my bad mood yet? Yes the sun is shining and it's a glorious day but I have a headache, painful bones, itchy boobs, it feels as though she's about to fall out and I have realised my wardrobe contains only navy, black and grey. How the fuck is this supposed to stop me from falling into post natal depression?

Today's update emails:

'There's no more room, so it's a good job that growth stops in the last two weeks.' Really? Because according to my midwife she will have a growth spurt in these last two weeks.

'With your baby due any day now, you're probably feeling a little anxious about the thought of giving birth.' Er, no. I feel anxious at thought of her being an ugly baby though.

'You will now be nesting...' I've been doing that for the last six weeks.

Is there anyone out there that really knows what they're talking about?

The reason it has been rather painful to just exist for the past few days is because I have Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction. Walking, sitting, going up the stairs, lifting things etc have all caused me great pain. I googled it and had it confirmed by the doctor today.

For those of you that don't know what it is, here is some information on SPD:

'Many pregnant women find walking and other weight-bearing movement difficult or uncomfortable at some time during pregnancy, but some pregnant women experience recurring pain and mobility problems caused by a condition known as Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction, or SPD, a fairly common pregnancy-related condition in which the pelvic joints become unstable, causing mild to severe pain. The pain of SPD can be incapacitating, and in the worst cases you may need to rely on crutches, a walking frame or a even a wheelchair.'

So that is why I've been in absolute agony. I was prescribed Co-codamol and plenty of rest and told to keep my legs closed (like I'm ever going to open them ever again???). However, I wasn't given crutches, a walking frame or a wheelchair and I still haven't decided if I'm pleased about this or not. Ironing and hoovering is out of the question (damn) according to the doctor. The only real cure is to give birth. You don't say. This baby has caused nothing but trouble from day one and I want her out.

To make matters worse, my blonde beard is getting longer by the day (I don't remember if I mentioned it before). For someone as arrogant and vain as myself this is hardly a good thing. I just hope the fucking thing falls out once I've given birth.

It's getting harder every day, carrying all this extra weight around. It's painful to walk unless I walk as though I have a blow up ball between my thighs (one of those ones you get on holiday), which is what I have been doing in the privacy of my own home. I woke up in the night, well I was woken up in the night, to a hard kick in the ribs again but this one was the most painful so far. After an hour of trying to settle her she finally gave in.

This morning not only does my pelvis feel as though it may crumble, the muscles in my back are throbbing, I have period like cramps in my front and back and at the tops of my legs and my boobs are on fire. To top that off, I have a runny nose and a sore throat.

So my weekend shall be spent on the sofa resting up, sulking. Two more weeks of this will send me over the edge.

From about seven last night I thought I might be in labour, I had really bad cramps and was in agony. They lasted for an hour and a half and then disappeared, returning at ten. I spoke to the midwife and she said I could go in to get checked over or just see what happened, I decided to wait as I didn't want to get my hopes up.

Turns out I wasn't in labour, she's still in there. It could well be the onset of early labour but I just have to play the waiting game. I hate waiting.

She has certainly calmed down a lot over the last few weeks - the say this is a sign she will be coming soon but of course that's a sign, she has to come out. Idiots. People have also said I have calmed down recently, this is because I'm preserving my potty mouth for when I'm in labour...

Another rough night, she wouldn't settle and when she did I needed the toilet which woke her up. The little madam is starting to get on my last nerve.

Had my bloods done, no spaz attack today which is always nice. We got to the scanning clinic an hour early so we sat listening to Radio 2 which was quite a traumatic time for me. He sat playing with his new iPhone whilst I looked at all the ugly 4d pictures plastered across the room, secretly thinking I was glad we never had a 4d scan.

The sonographer called us and and got straight to it, everything was as it should be although she's slightly small but I'm hardly a heffer myself so nothing to worry about. Then she asked if we'd like to see her in 4d (or is it 3d, I never can tell the difference). She flicked a switch and laying in her bubble was the little monster with her foot in her face, her little piggy nose and chubby cheeks were a delight to see. Then she moved and the picture changed, this time she was pinching her nose. Alas, these images did not melt my black heart. I snorted a bit when she was kicking herself in the face but that's her own fault. Babies are stupid.

I just want her out now. I want to squeeze her chubby cheeks and prod her in the belly. She's only roughly 5lb 3oz which is good as I'm not pushing out a 10lb ogre, they say she'll be between 6-7lb although the way I'm eating this tub of Pringles she'll be a stone...

Well last night was a barrel of laughs. She didn't settle until half three this morning and kicked off again at half seven so yes, I'm a bit tired.

I tried to install the car seat this afternoon but the instructions were too hard to understand so instead we're going to buy a special base to make it easier. It's called an ISOFIX base, interesting huh? Then we went for dinner at my grandparents and I'm now about to fall into a food coma. That's as exciting as my day has been, no twinges or any sign that labour is imminent. Just a few of the ol' braxton hicks contractions.

Tomorrow I'm going to get my bloods done and I have a scan at half eleven to tell me whether or not she's growing properly. Worst case scenario: I have to be induced this week although after last nights performance I'm beginning to think having her out now really would be a good thing (at least she could get the care she needs if she is a bit on the small side and I'd get a break from her violent tantrums).

Woo, I'm now classed as full term. I've been told to make sure there's petrol in the car, the hospital bags are packed and to be on 'red alert'. She could come anytime, y'know?

Except we all know she's going to be late.

I slept well last night and she didn't stir until lunchtime which is a first. She made a bit of a fuss after the curry last night and I had a few hot flushes and some braxton hicks contractions but that's about all in terms of excitement.

This afternoon I had the strong urge to do some gardening (I know, such a loser) but was told it's too early so now I'm bored. I've cleaned the bathroom and there is a huge pile of ironing to do but I'm avoiding that. My painting clothes are in the wash and there isn't any cleaning to do (I disinfected the entire kitchen again yesterday) and I don't want to sit around and relax as I've had a sudden burst of energy (that's the Starbucks I had earlier and the can of Coke I'm drinking now).

After a night spent worrying, this morning I decided to call the Ultrasound department at my hospital to see how far along in the queue I was. Expecting to be told 'somewhere near the front' seeings as my midwife had clearly marked the fax URGENT, I was abruptly told that her request wasn't even on the system and that they'd had over two hundred scan requests in the past twenty four hours and that she doubts I'll even get seen to within the next two weeks. I told the rude old hag that I understood they were busy but I'm thirty seven weeks pregnant and there could be a problem with my baby's growth. She said there was nothing she could do. Not once did I hear the word sorry and not once did I hear any warmth or compassion in her voice. By the time I had put the phone down I was seething.

I understand that they're busy and that they must get people like me calling up everyday but why the fuck did she think it was ok to speak to me like I was harassing her?

Pregnancy is a very worrying time for a woman, whether it's her first or her seventh. When you are told there is a possibility that there may be something wrong with your baby (but don't panic) you're going to get yourself into a bit of a state. So why wasn't my call handled with the sensitivity it deserved? Ok, I'm just a number in the grand scheme of things but I certainly do not deserve to be treated like one. The NHS is a shambles.

After sitting on the stairs for fifteen minutes trying to calm myself down for fear of going into labour, I decided to look into a private scan. I called a local private clinic and was met with a warm hello and told that the earliest appointment was this afternoon. Ok, you have to pay to go private but does it really cost anything to put on a reassuring voice to put the patient at ease? Even if you are a washed up old bag. I now have an appointment booked for Monday morning at a private hospital.

It makes me sad that there are people out there that may be in a similar situation to me that can't afford to go private and have to sit and wait for that call to let them know that an appointment has been made (and I'm not being condescending). Every pregnant women should be handled with the care and respect she deserves.

My email most certainly won't make a difference but I'll be letting the hospital know exactly how I have been treated, I just don't know if it's ok to describe the woman I spoke to as a stupid old bitch?

Knowing that if everything is not as it seems and she needs to come early is quite scary. I know I've been willing her to come out for the last....er...forever, but hearing about the consequences of having a baby that may not be growing properly has made everything so real.

Of course it could be utter nonsense, I mean how on earth can you determine that by a tape measure? I do hope everything is fine and dandy and she's just being awkward (she is my daughter after all) and curling herself up. I thought I was ready for her but I'm sooooooo not ready.

This could be my last night as 'me' (I'll always be me, I'll just be me with a child) or my last weekend to just laze about eating cake. I might go into labour tomorrow or have a scan and learn that I need to be induced the next day.

What I'm trying to say is, it's all just hit me. 'What the fuck have I done' mixed in with 'oh my god I'm going to be someone's Mum' with a whole load of 'I'm going to be responsible for this baby when I can't even be responsible for myself' followed by sheer excitement and a lot panicking.

In an ideal world (yes I just said that) I have three weeks left (and that). If she's not the weight she should really be then I guess she'll have to come sooner. I just hope her violence is a sign that no matter how big or small she is, she's a healthy little monster.

I've just returned from seeing the midwife. They do like to shit you up don't they...

"The baby hasn't grown since I last saw you", she said clutching her measuring tape. Measuring tape? She's not a piece of wood.

I've been told not to worry - er, what's the first thing you do when someone tells you that? She requested an URGENT growth scan (she wrote it like that on the form and faxed it across) and told me that if the baby isn't growing properly they may have to deliver her early (I'm paying hugely for my moaning and groaning about wanting her early, so if you're thinking 'I told you...' then I suggest you stop reading this and bore off - I don't want her early under those circumstances even though she is two days away from being classed as full term).

So now I'm all freaking out and waiting for the hospital to call. I'm going to go and eat eight chocolate bars and hope that she grows a bit more.

Another restless nights sleep and a violent kick from my alarm clock at 7am set me up for the day. Except this morning I woke up with cramps which I'm hoping is the start, I'll keep hoping...

I spent the afternoon at my Mum's, eating yummy food and being silly. We sorted her wardrobe, organising it into product types (I bossed her around from under the covers in her too comfortable bed) and putting outfits together. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons with lots of laughing. Kind of made me sad that I'm not her little girl anymore and that soon enough I'll be responsible for my own little madam.

Today I saw pictures of myself that sent me into a fit of depression. The photos from my baby shower. I look like an albino hippo. I'm horrified.

I've never really dieted and if I have I've never made a point of it. I don't encourage it and I especially never call myself fat. Having three younger sisters, I have always spoken positively about my body and have never moaned about the odd bulge or roll, only embraced it. I believe that through eating sensibly (in my head that's eating one chocolate cupcake, not two) and exercise (walking) you can be happy with what you've got.

Throughout my pregnancy I haven't really been unhappy with how I look (Ok that's a lie, I'm mortified at how pale I am), I've let my body do it's own thing and I've eaten what I wanted when I wanted it and have gained weight steadily. Yes, I'm at my heaviest but I know that's because I have a lump inside me and that her cosy little bubble weighs a bit too. What's terrified me is the lack of control I have had over my body.

I pull the strings normally, I can control my weight at the flick of a button (although it isn't normally about how much I weigh, it's often about how I feel) and I choose how I look. So pregnancy has been really hard for me (if you hadn't already guessed), I've had to learn to trust that bitch Mother Nature. Before I found out I was pregnant, I had a tan and I was comfortable with my body. I wore clothes that flattered my figure and I was happy. Men looked at me and smiled and, I won't lie, it made me feel better about myself.

Sue me for being shallow but I cannot wait to get back into my pre-pregnancy clothes, bronze my skin and dress to suit my figure, not the huge lump that I'm currently carrying. Yes pregnancy is a blessing, but it does nothing for your figure (unless you want huge boobs and piles)...

Today I am in agony. She's kicking like she wants to come out and I wish she fucking would. My whole being hurts and I'm tired and I want to go back to bed but people won't stop texting and when I don't reply they call and when I don't answer, the house phone rings.

It's ok, I'm not slumped at the bottom of the stairs, I'm just trying to get some rest which is what you all keep telling me to do. Can't really do that when you won't leave me alone...

I'm going to go out and get some breakfast (there is no milk or bread or anything that can pass as breakfast in the house) and when I get back I shall bring my duvet downstairs, switch all the phones to silent and watch DVD's.